Mr Holmes Takes A Wife
by conchepcion
Summary: Miss Hooper is forced to marry the seemingly cold Mr Holmes, however she is entirely wrong about his character. Learning quite a lesson from the man himself.
1. Engaged

**A/N: **Recently edited, the second part will come soon.

* * *

Mr Hooper upon marrying his wife with her two thousand pounds was considered a fortunate man, even more so, when he over time accumulated a great estate and ten thousand a year. Importance was never of a great consequence to Mr Hooper, unlike Mrs Hooper who strode into society desiring to keep her head high in the ton.

She wished for an advantageous marriage for her eldest daughter Molly whose bloom was well admired, though her insatiable curiosity and candour threw off any mild tempered young gentleman through her best years, until, she was teeming on spinsterhood.

Mrs Hooper, however, found an offer from a highly esteemed family of the nobler kind, with barouche boxes enough to satiate her elegant mind for weeks, but the proposal she then put forward to her then 27 year old daughter was countered with a blank refusal.

"Sir Holmes' son is close to your age and I am told is quite the intellect!" she said rather vexed, her adorned curls flying about her reddened face.

"_Mama_!" her daughter had exclaimed in a loud sigh, her intentions clear the minute she stormed out of the library, her book still clutched in her hand.

Mrs Hooper was familiar with the lengths her daughter would take to avoid her 'inadequate' proposals, and she could never catch her, her daughter being a great walker employed her legs with great exuberance. She was at her father's study before she knew it, wheezing haplessly behind her, as she spoke in a more agreeable voice. "Papa-," but her daughter did not speak any further than those words she had absorbed in her upbringing, quieting down to her astonishment.

It was when she saw Mr Hooper that she understood, for a most severe expression was in her husband's face. This was not the amused countenance she was used to, nor her daughter; his mouth was a firm thin line, his grey brows furrowed. "You will do as your mama wishes-,"

Not once in her daughter's twenty-seven years had he ever been amenable on the subject of 'these _advantageous suitors',_ all of them seeking fortune where they only had titles, or so her daughter repeatedly said. "But-,"

"There will be no buts – no arguments – or quarrelling over this matter any further young lady – you will do as you're told-," said Mr Hooper in such a way that made her daughter run stunned out of the room.

Mrs Hooper was startled by her husband's passionate ejaculations, pursuing her daughter at the prospect of soothing her nerves, unable to bring her much consolation in her grief.

When she had left the study she had not seen her husband's defeated expression. Neither did she see the letter he had crumpled in his hand, which he soon submitted to the fire, watching the parchment burn to a crisp.

This particular letter had forced his hand, and made him acquire the help of the young gentleman Mr Holmes in the protection of his daughter from the charlatan Mr Moriarty.

* * *

Miss Hooper had grown accustomed to Bartholomew - of the narrow over-grown paths and secret passageways that would eventually lead up to the great estate. The past fortnight had been for her an outlandish experience with no comparison. No one paid heed to her silent suffering, or allowed her to revel in it other than make her understand that she was to attend the chapel in some few days.

Her impending _husband_ that she had yet to lay eyes upon contorted into a vile villainous creature – snaking out as if from a novel by _Mrs Radcliffe_ – a cruel man, she could only presume. She would not enter into matrimony joyfully, not even inclined to chose anything but the plainest of wedding clothes, despite her mother's protests and queries into finer silk.

There would be no glad tidings or joyous exclamations in this forthcoming marriage; her own father had thrust her into. Mr Hooper whom she had never assumed would ever put upon her such a cursed task.

Alas, she was sadly mistaken about her own father's character.

He had turned dark, keeping himself in his study at all times, and only partaking in meals silently without breathing a word of any cheerful note to set her spirits higher. Her only comfort was her younger brother Tobias who had at first argued chiefly that is must have been some jest put upon her, except upon speaking with Mr Hooper he was sorely mistaken. "I am dreadfully sorry dear sister to find you so downcast, but perhaps there will be some happiness to be fond with your husband. I hear a great many talk of him in the ton."

"And it is…good?" she said with a deep-set frown, at which her brother heartily laughed.

"You mustn't make him the villain quite yet! Though I have heard him spoken to be quite an _unusual_ gentleman."

Miss Hooper did not know if that bode well or not, her feelings however were already made up upon the subject. Whatever her brother said would not cease her growing prejudice against the one who would secure her future unhappiness.

It was during one of her walks where she was studiously occupied in one of Mr Hooper's rather interesting volumes regarding medicine (an occupation, that she was sure, if she had been the proper sex she would be most occupied in) that she met upon a gentleman on horseback.

She started, threading backward carefully in fright, her hand brought upon her bosom in surprise over the stature of the man astride the stallion.

He had a most interesting face with a set of startling eyes, which flitted between forest green and the deep sea. "Oh!" she uttered in shock, unable to keep her surprise from being uttered.

Miss Hooper knew how her mama detested her walks, as she was often frightened that ruffians might overtake her if she did not thread carefully, but this man did not bear any resemblance to such.

His clothes were fully black and fit his fine figure; his attire suited more for a burial, though the white of his cravat shook that thought away, letting her assume he relished the stark contrast against his pale skin.

All in all he seemed to be a gentleman, but did he not look entirely gentleman-like with the wild dark curls that protruded from underneath his hat, almost feral in its appearance.

There was something about his air, which gave her the belief that he was like the sturdiest mare in their stables. His expression so stoic that she was astonished when he tilted his hat to her in salutation, before riding off without a word in greeting.

They had not been introduced, so she would not know what to say if he had indeed spoken. But she noticed the brief upward tug of his mouth, as he disappeared from her line of sight, making her more flustered than she was in a want for, like he knew a dark secret of some kind.

It wasn't before she returned to Bartholomew intending to have some luncheon, when she was even more put out to find that very gentleman in the sitting room. "Mr Holmes - Molly – your fiancé," said her father in the harshest of tones.

She was struck silent by Mr Holmes' deep bow that seemed almost sardonic, contrasting his eyes that were full of some indistinguishable emotion. "He will be dining with us…I am sure you would not mind to give him a short tour of the grounds?" said her father, while she tried to regain her composure. This was her fiancé – the man in black – who certainly did not look like a villain, despite his affectations.

She stared in silence, intending to protest at the inducement. "I believe Molly is in need of some luncheon. It would be cruel to set her out on another walk on an empty stomach - Mr Hooper," said Mr Holmes, distressing her with his acute observation and his deep voice.

Her eyes could not be more fixed upon him than they were already, torn in confusion of wanting to have nothing to do with him, and wanting to know more about his character.

"I – yes, papa. Indeed I am…famished…" she said averting her gaze, keeping her hands folded in front of her.

It was difficult not to be struck by the fact that he had elected to use her given name, but she knew that their betrothal allowed him to take such liberties, even if she secretly disapproved of his untoward familiarity.

"Very well then, I suppose that Mr-," her father begun.

"I am fine Mr Hooper – some coffee, however, wouldn't be amiss," Mr Holmes said with an attempt at a smile.

* * *

Miss Hooper did not have much understanding of the courtship between a man and his fiancé. It was a concept wholly unfamiliar to her, but she was quite certain that the tangible silence that Mr Holmes kept was not one a betrothed man should keep. He did not seem entirely accustomed to social niceties, though he did thank her for the coffee, which she had administered on her own (bothering the servants for such a thing did not suit her disposition).

Astonishingly enough Mr Holmes did not complain, though he said very little already, as he only frowned slightly at the coffee. "So…Mr Holmes," she began wishing to push the tête-à-tête that would most likely take place anyhow forward, "We -,"

"- are to be married, yes. I am well aware _Miss_ Hooper."

She could not understand the man, somehow he felt the necessity to keep up appearances when they were very much alone, which she felt somewhat dissatisfied with. For a minute she had been hopeful that the impertinence he had previously the gall to show beforehand would appear once more, but he had only disappointed her.

She mimicked his earlier grimace, sitting suddenly upright in her chair with a mild sniff. "Do you always finish other people's discourse for them, sir?"

"If I find them pointless Miss Hooper, then yes - _especially _when I know there are other enquiries you'd rather grieve me with," he said with a sigh, settling his cup aside with a bang on the china platter.

Turning rigid in her seat she said. "I do not wish to marry you," unable to keep the contempt from her voice, her eyes almost unable to meet his.

He did not seem shaken by this news, his hand only adjusting his cup slowly in its saucer. "Nor I you," he said coldly, his gaze upon the table.

* * *

No brightness existed in her eyes, as her veil was drawn before her and her future anticipated her, looking excessively troubled by the proceedings.

At her hesitant first steps she saw his entire countenance alter, though the mien soon went to the familiar dour expression she had grown accustomed to and she assumed she had been remiss in her attentions.

"_\- Therefore is not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God-,"_

Miss Hooper's _'I do'_ was said quietly, the ring gently placed upon her finger with sympathy she did not expect from the gentleman - _her husband_ to have. Departing from the wedding in their curricle she was promptly forced to face a gathering, where all congratulated her on her good fortune and title. It was indeed not the consolation she sought throughout the affair, but she kept any disagreeable look to herself.

After all she was _Mrs Holmes_ and she would have to make due.

Mr Holmes barely spoke a word throughout the whole, and those he said were of a disagreeable nature - slighting guests who all took it in their stride, clapping him on the back with merriment, assuming that it was indeed his nerves more than any natural aspect within him.

Mrs Holmes dared not correct their presumptions and lead most of the exchanges herself, occasionally with her husband supplying a curt nod from behind her. When they were finally sanctioned to quit Bartholomew's festivities she finally let the depth of her sorrow be exposed, knowing what to expect when their journey took them to their new home.

Her mother had enlightened her in the particulars of what a gentleman anticipated from his bride; liberties that he was free to take. She was bound by duty and would have to '_suffer' _through the unpleasantness, as her mother has told her. But upon arriving at their estate Mr Holmes retired to his own rooms, only bidding her goodnight with a low bow and after that, she did not see him for the next fortnight.

* * *

It became known to Mrs Holmes that her husband had the propensity to withdraw at great intervals, either to his smaller house in London, or occupy himself with rather peculiar activities. Mr Holmes was indeed an eccentric gentleman, invigorated by a great deal many things, though none of them were the pursuits that drove other gentlemen to distraction.

He was proficient in many of those activities, though he detested them according to one of the maids, for there was a great deal of gossip about the master in the household, but very few of the staff were intimately familiar with his character. She only gained some information by her own observations, and when he on occasion talked to her. They had scarcely spoken to one another in their home, having none of the felicity she had often envisioned for herself if she had married for love, which had been her original intent. To say Mr Holmes was a mystery to her was a great understatement, and she found herself enquiring into his eccentricities, gaining some knowledge at least on matters such as 'science and deduction'. None of which was familiar to her.

Mrs Holmes knew only one thing for certain, which no gossip or idle observation could give her – he did not share their marital bed. She had rejoiced at first, but in time she had found it rather distressing, for it only told her how little he seemed to care for her. He spent most of his leisure time with his friend Mr Watson, both of whom employed themselves with cases of a curious kind.

Her familiarity with those cases existed only because of Mr Watson's brief visits where he could inform her of their exploits, yet none were ever told to her by her husband who seemed bent upon to continue eluding her. She had not been troubled by it to begin with, keeping mostly to herself and throwing herself into being mistress of their estate, but as time flew – so did her relief in such work.

She did not fully comprehend why she was so forlorn about the subject of her husband, until one night she had taken to bed, and he strode into her chambers with the stormiest of expressions in his eyes.

Drawing her sheets up under her chin, she had stared at the man. He had stood only in his breeches, his brows drawn together in a puzzled expression. She gasped the second he jumped upon the bed like a wild creature, hovering above her mortified face, his breath tickling her skin.

It had been the closest they had ever been to each other.

Her bosom heaving underneath the weight of his body that covered hers easily, his piercing eyes dancing across her form, before a smirk played at his lips. Her own eyes could not be drawn away from him, briefly only catching the sight of his bare pale chest. When he caught her stare he leaned down toward her lips, his face so close – before he suddenly withdrew, alarm writ upon his face, soon slamming the door of her chamber shut.

Her heart had thumped soundly, forcing her to call for her maid, at which the maid quickly brought out a soothing cup of tea, but it did not still her concerns.

She begged the woman to leave her, before she restlessly quitted her bed and begun wandering throughout her room, attempting to steady herself, unable to alleviate her mind before her feelings, became fully known to her.

"I…love him, oh - what cruel misfortune."

It was cruel to esteem a man she had long detested, a man whom she had long forced herself into loathing, but found that she could not.

* * *

The knowledge of her affection made the days seem bleaker, as Mr Holmes did not call for her, or visit her bedchambers unannounced again. All of his days upon the estate were spent fully occupied in his laboratory, bolted inside there for hours, never seeming to need any respite.

Mrs Holmes did at times consider herself brave, though her daring could never be exhibited if he kept himself away from her. She did not discern if she was prohibited to enter his laboratory, as the servants were certainly forbidden to enter (his request to have the room untouched when he was there or away kept to).

Devising a plan Mrs Holmes left her chambers, before the entry of her maid one morning. She was determined to have some conversation with her husband, as she could no longer endure the silence between them.

Perhaps he did not desire her, though she remembered the wildness in his eyes too vividly, the inducement - which she found, she would not have protested towards if asked.

The house was still quiet, only the brief movement of some of the staff was heard; their morning absolutions being taken care of, while she sprang in the empty halls in only her nightdress. She knew the impropriety of her apparel, but there was no time if she were to lure him out.

But to Mrs Holmes' astonishment the man was not in his secretive_ laboratory_.

None of the furnishings, or fittings gave her the belief that it was for the use of acquiring knowledge, or science, with its luxurious set of furniture.

Her disappointment was heavy indeed, for her husband did not have any interests, whatsoever, and only wanted to keep out of sight.

It wasn't before she was called upon to visit the room herself not long after trespassing, when she fully realised the rooms potential, and that her husband had made it with_ her_ in mind.

At the very beginning of their marriage Mr Watson had consoled her of her husbands nature. "Holmes' heart is quite secret. No one knows of its intricate workings, but I am quite assured that his heart…belongs to you Mrs Holmes, whatever he might say."

She had refuted him, arguing her point forward, but in her _current _position – she felt she had horrendously mistaken his cold nature for suppressed passion, which she did not know if she _could_ live through.

When she had been called, she found herself dreading to enter what several of the servants claimed were his actual _chambers_. His deep voice sounding out to her, his back straight as he stared right at her. "And what did you find out in your pursuit to figure me out Mrs Holmes?"

His knowing did not throw her off, understanding as he was if anything was out of order in any way, even making the chief maid Mrs Hudson tremble when he had found her dusting within the laboratory by mistake. "That this is not a room of science," she said, not allowing herself to be disquieted by his look of contempt.

"It is."

"And what science would that be, sir?" she said rather angrily.

Oh, how she regretted those very words, though, if she were given the chance she would have them uttered again and again, despite the knowledge of what would then come to pass.

Mrs Holmes had retained her virtue for quite some time, longer than she would have ever presumed, but she never suspected it would be taken from her in that very chamber instead of their marital bed.

Neither had she any inclination to assume that she would be unclothed in front of her husband, done by his own amorous hands that stroked her into submission with attentive care that almost seemed practised.

Being bound to a pillar with silken ropes and a cloth covering her eyes, was perhaps not what she anticipated at all, neither did she have the impression that she would enjoy the torments devised by her husband, while he murmured against her ear in a most forbidden tone. "There are different types of science Molly, perhaps I shall make you thoroughly acquainted with this specific branch…_some_ punishment must be had for your wilful disobedience."

She could only wriggle weakly against her bindings, while his hand lovingly stroked her, seizing the cold conflict between them and reaping a new age entirely. One which the servants would speak of low tones about, informing that their master and mistress were fully employed when in the laboratory.


	2. Marital Bliss

**A/N: **I'd love to thank **AussieMaelstrom** for being my beta and a large amount of people who I got help from while writing this.

I am extremely grateful for all of your assistance and I hope this is a sufficient enough gift, thank you *bows*.

* * *

"_That this is not a room of science."_

"_It is."_

"And what science would that be, sir?" she said unable to shield her displeasure with his facade. He persisted with confidence in his declaration, despite her disagreement, taking to silently stride about the room.

Mrs Holmes had truly believed that his intentions within this room had always been in the utmost scholarly sphere, believing him to be extraordinary in the way that Mr Watson depicted him, but perhaps all of that had been a falsehood. Amongst her anger was unease, for there were no windows in the room, and only one door that on closer inspection seemed to be rather thick and secure.

It became clear to her that she had not had an accurate enough understanding of the furnishings on her first entry. They seemed to be in the same state as the rest of the house, grand and luscious, except they all looked newly purchased. Something within her articulated to be wary of this particular room, for he must have understood she had entered without his approval hoping he'd be deep in his studies.

Mr Holmes had requested her presence after all, but she did not know if it was something to cause cheer. Not that she should have something to fear, but she comprehended that the room itself was not the danger when he bolted the door from the inside, holding the up the key for her to see. He looked thoroughly amused, as his hand closed upon the key shielding it from her sight.

There appeared a gleam in his eyes, one she had only seen when he had once visited her bedchamber, and one that made her paled cheeks turn crimson.

"Are you are aware of how this room is built?" he said, hands folded behind his back.

It was the second time they were utterly alone.

The pair of them were left in the glare of flickering candlelight, a portion of the room without tapers drowning in darkness, casting a devilish light upon her husband's handsome features.

She kept her tongue, uncertain how to proceed, anticipating good-naturedly that he would be forthcoming for at least in that there was some alteration. "The walls are thick – as is the door, _Molly_."

Her tiny gasp did not go unnoticed, and he soon held out the key for her to take.

"If you wish to quit this room, you may," he said.

Her eyes darted to the key, before meeting his eyes once more.

There was something in his gaze that told her she could not, or perhaps the fact that her slippers felt laden with pebbles made her unable to announce her retreat.

Mr Holmes seemed to find her silence encouraging, taking an eager step toward her, his face cast less in the dark now, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Or do you not wish to be apart from your husband?" he whispered, causing her to shiver abruptly at his gaze.

She did not venture away from him, staring up at his domineering figure, despite her inward apprehension.

"Whatever can you mean? What _is_ this room?" she said.

"It for you to uncover, Molly…I appreciate your curiosity, but certainly you did not understand the complexities of these furnishings. Or admired the pillars and ropes?"

Hesitantly she obeyed him, seeking out the pillars and ropes, which induced her insides to writhe in expectation. She started when his hand was upon her cheek, forcing her brown eyes to look up at him, his expression rather thoughtful.

"You have listened to the idle chatter of the maids have you not? That this room stood unexploited for many years…until I took a wife?" A rosy glow spread itself onto her cheeks, of which he was plainly aware, his mouth curving up to a wicked grin. "Now…do you comprehend my intention with this particular chamber?"

The words were whispered upon her lips, of which he did not hesitate to taste.

And she does not wish him away.

He did not take; he drew the very breath from her lips, her flesh a quivering mess at the warm hands splayed against her waist, but he relinquished his hold upon her.

"What do you say, Molly? Do you wish to fulfil your duties as my wife - my mistress?"

An excitable gleam flickered into view in his scrutiny, one that lowered hers, as she replied - "Yes."

He tipped her chin upward, studying her expression with a look of triumph. But there is curiosity - longing even, as his fingertips brushed against her lips with utmost care.

Suddenly the fire that had begun to take place vanished when he released her, hastily turning away. In that instant it became clear that whatever he saw in her, she saw within him as well. One mirror to the other, as her own hesitance was reflected back at her, her own want turned against her – for it was filling him from the inside as well.

"Leave," he whispered standing in the dark, the light touching only the back of his dark curls.

She did not pay heed to his wish, her puzzlement apparent on her face, as she took a step forward into the dark with him. "Why would you bid me to go?"

But he began striding around the room, her eyes trained upon him watching his agitated posture, his brow furrowed close to that of wrath, but all of it seemed to be focused upon his own soul.

Mr Holmes – _her husband_ – seemed to be battling with his own wits, his own beliefs, an internal conflict on-going without her understanding his plight. He suddenly stopped in his stride, a greater distance between them, as he was truly swathed in the dark.

"Because I do not wish to harm you," he spoke softly, the mere crack in his voice discerning to her his fear.

"Is that your intent?" she asked after a minute had passed, and she in true agitation could not bear to continue in the way they'd been condemning themselves.

"No."

"Then I believe you won't."

"How can you trust me so implicitly?" he said stepping forward one more, his face visible to her as well as the blatant pain.

"You are my husband."

"And it is your duty to be bound to me –_ well_ – I relinquish you of that duty Miss Hooper. You may leave these chambers with your maidenhead unsullied."

He still held out the key, but all of his theatrics lacked the conviction he had when she had first entered. Hearing her maiden name spoken in such a sombre way, she acknowledged, only sent her into a fit of pain.

"No," she said folding her hands in front of her. "I won't leave these chambers."

The furrow upon his brow deepened and she could easily see that he looked upon her like she had grown mad or been struck by fever. She pondered herself on the implications of her denying his request, but she could not leave him, she would _not_ leave him.

How could she leave the poor soul hovering between his will and desire? It is plain that he did not presume she would ever accept his request. All of it was some ill-fitting joke on his part, accepting at her entry that she would be gone by now, the door slammed shut in her wake.

Mr Holmes expected her refusal – her loathing – but he would find none.

She did not know what in her look gave him the courage to close the distance between them, as it is the silence that is the victor in their discourse and it is with relief.

Yet it is with some newfound surprise that she found him wavering inches away from her face. "Why?" he asked, when he slid one finger across her face feeling her warm cheek, until his fingertips danced slowly like feathers on top of her bosom. Her intake of breath seemed to be most welcome to him; warmth spreading throughout her at every brush his fingers made, until she caught his gaze locking it into place.

"Because I am yours."

Fire rose in his eyes, their emerald quality almost blackened, as he once more sought her out, his hands burning upon her garments that were more of a hindrance than anything else. There is not one hint of chastity or niceness in the way he deepened his exploration of her mouth, wrapping their flavours together, as he enveloped her, leaving an indescribable taste in her mouth. His hands were not idle throughout, letting them drift across her shape as she threw her arms around him surrendering entirely, almost uncertain in how to proceed but she let him be her conductor. None of the sensations were familiar to her, the overpowering feeling of passion that burrows deep in her loins, distracting her senses, her being – all of it almost frightening her. He drew back, his breath ragged against her mouth, as he rested his temple against hers.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, his mouth briefly twitching upward.

"Ye – yes," she said almost unable to speak.

And he looked upon her with such fulfilment she could not hide her trembling.

"Get undressed or - do you need _me_ to attend to you?" he whispered against her lips, lips that she almost followed, but he withdrew enough to give her space to take care of her garments. She had never been nude in the sight of a man before, neither had she ever attended to her own clothing. All of which turned out to be a wearisome affair without another pair of hands, which he soon demonstrated when he ripped her bodice open. Molly stared upon him in shock, but knew by the sight of the growing impatience evident in his britches that perhaps his patience was dangling by a thread.

Boyish laughter escaped his lips, a wolfish grin spreading on his face – all of which made her ease in his presence.

"I cannot entirely do this alone, I suppose," she said. Her hands almost gathered in front of her, briefly fearful that he would see beneath the ripped garment and be displeased. Here her ivory skin and pink buds were for his perusal, not a sight any man had ever contemplated upon before, but he looked upon her with a quiet familiarity. "Do you often divest ladies of their gowns, Mr Holmes?"

* * *

"I am Sherlock to you, Molly," he said taking her hands in his, unable to disguise the look of amazement in his mien, before he pressed a tender kiss on the inside of her wrist. He could feel the enthusiastic beatings beneath her skin with the touch of his fine mouth, her excitement one she could not conceal from him. Perhaps he was familiar with the feminine form, but it was still a sight to behold her. He began to slowly drag away the last remnants of her attire, undoing her hair – the velvet contents of her voluptuousness revealing themselves to his inquiring eyes.

"Do sit," he said in a low murmur guiding her to rest upon one of the chairs, seeing the light kindly bestow its lustre upon her beautiful shape.

The unease was still visible on her face, however excited her body betrayed she was – he needed her mind to be at ease as well. A union as such without body _and_ soul would never truly be a union, and he did not feel she deserved to be put under.

He got on bended knee before her, a position befitting to him before such innocent beauty – no taint or markings upon her skin. With his eyes fixed upon her face he begun to seek the pathway between her milky thighs, his hands braving first a gentle brush or two to settle her nerves – to let her rest – her trembling legs finally settling. She rewarded him with a gentle smile in encouragement and he bestowed a kiss on her rosy lips, feeling her ardour rise.

When he broke from her it was with his mouth that he sought to finish what he had begun. First he needed to make her comprehend the pleasures, letting himself indulge in the slow burn and the ecstasies he would certainly see acted out on that pure face of hers. She was soft to the touch when he spread her legs, her quivering diminished underneath the unfamiliar sensations that he gave her, as he introduced himself to her already moist slit.

The art between her legs, visible beneath mossy curls beckon him further, his nose making the journey forward poking at her folds. Her gasp is immediate, her legs almost jerking shut against him, but upon finding the warmth between the comforts of her thighs – his tongue rendered her weak. He felt every tremble of her cunt against his mouth, the revealing moisture encouraging him further into her depths.

"Oh," he heard her finally utter, her usually articulate mouth rendered to senseless twaddle. "_Oh_."

He cannot disguise his diverted face, bestowing more fervent kisses to her cunt, his tongue angling towards the bud, which he can see she had not much familiarity with.

The cry she uttered at his sudden attack on her clitoris is a sound he immediately cherished, his fingers attentively seeking her heat by parting her folds, as he let one finger curl within her. Warmth suddenly flooding his mouth - the taste of her release upon his tongue a sweet fragrance he cannot compare to nature.

* * *

His warm hands departed from her thighs, letting her feel slightly bereft despite the tremors of pleasure surging throughout her. She had never experienced such a thing before and it was clear to her that it was not something to fear. Her grief at his sudden parting extinguished when he took hold of her face and leaned in for a searing kiss. His tongue entangled with hers, letting her drink the taste of her desire from his mouth, her arms wrapping themselves around him with undisguised enthusiasm.

The flavour of her own arousal blossoming in her mouth, reminding her of the ripe berries she had partaken in during her lunch. It was all mixed with the taste of his own overpowering essence - dark and bitter flavours.

Drawing himself away from her tingling lips he tipped her chin upward, clearly revelling in her inappropriate behaviour.

"Did you enjoy the taste Molly?" he said. His voice was low making the hairs stand on the back of her neck. "Did you enjoy the sweet taste of your cunt?"

Such words she had never heard a gentleman say out loud, nor did she ever expect them to come from her husband, but she could not disagree.

"Yes," she said breathlessly, her eyes half-shut, as her body was still trembling from the reverberations surging through her body.

His finger began stroking at her quivering bottom lip. "Do you wish to return the favour?" Immediately her brown eyes sought out the prominent tenting in his breeches, her insides bursting with curiosity more than revulsion at such a promising idea.

She did shiver when his hands took hers, firmly placing them at the buttons that kept his shape hidden from her almost beseeching eyes, her hands first dancing across the fabric, feeling his thick length throb underneath her palm.

But she did not draw back, her throat turning dry, as she quietly unbuttoned him with wonder in her eyes. There she saw his manhood glistening with moisture at the tip of the head. His want was even more blatant to her, as she tentatively leaned forward letting her mouth encase his cock.

By pure instinct she comprehended what actions he would like best, his breathy groans assisting her in her endeavour of sliding her mouth across his thickness. He felt almost soft in her mouth, her tongue tasting the salty flavours of his cock that twitched briefly.

She barely understood how he could fit within her, as her mouth barely managed to truly take him in, letting him instead slip in and out of her feeling him instantly rock against her mouth. There was a strained countenance in his face, his brows knitted together tightly.

Molly drew back when he made a low guttural moan uncertain if she had been mistaken in her administrations, but by the way his hands disappeared into her hair she knew she had not disappointed him.

Returning her mouth upon him she sucked, soon relishing the sensation of him losing all inhabitations at such a carnal act. He made her feel most unladylike, but her enjoyment was far too large to manage to hesitate in letting her hands draw him closer, quickly placing them on his strong legs.

But her delight was put to an end when he slowly stroked at her cheek.

"Enough Molly," he gasped, his voice trembling.

She looked upward to see his eyes gleaming with amusement, as he made her rise up to her uncertain feet.

"Perhaps you would like to undress me?"

His arms hung at his sides allowing her to fumble with his cravat. There was evident enjoyment in his eyes at such a display, and he soon drew her towards him, seeking out her lips and distracting her senseless with his mouth. Strong hands cupped her soft bottom, fingers briefly sliding into her heat once more causing her to cling toward him, before he dipped more fingers inside her moistness.

"Perhaps not," he murmured against her lips.

Her eyes had already fluttered shut, her body feeling particularly heavy, as his fingers continued to penetrate her, only halting when he sensed displeasure in her face. He had come across her barrier. She was perhaps not utterly educated in some aspects, but she did indeed understand this _particular_ threshold.

Guiding her towards a loveseat he let her rest, as he quietly began divesting his clothing. The knowledge she had thought she had evaporated at the sight of his naked form. There was strength evident in his muscled frame, everything about him a sight to behold and one that quieted her erratic breathing.

He laid down besides her, his hands idly playing with her breasts, gently coaxing her nipples to stand erect to his touch. His cock was pressed against her backside while she leaned against him. She felt all of the ripples and contours of his masculine form, which was a clear contrast to her soft one.

It was impossible not to feel arrested by that sheer moment.

She wanted to give him everything at her disposal, and she could willingly without any form of guilt for it was her duty, yet it did not feel as such. However, she still felt her anxieties briefly emerging, stealing away at her lust.

But he sensed her hesitance immediately whispering against her ear. "We must have you at ease Molly - for I can only truly show you what you desire then."

She did not protest when she felt satin against her cheek, a black soft covering gathered before her eyes.

True darkness surrounded her.

The sound of his breathing and hers was the only thing she heard, besides her beating heart. He had given no explanation, but she needed none, understanding that he wanted her to delve into pure sensation, disregarding all of those petty discomforts - all of those airs she had been brought up to believe in.

Feeling his body heavy against hers she felt somewhat prepared, perhaps not relaxed. His hands began to roam, slowly they caressed her, his mouth encircled the pert buds upon her bosom, sucking and licking at them attentively making her writhe against him. Strong hands parted her legs, allowing her to feel his cock pressed against her folds, but still not entering.

There was no manner in which she could not moan when his mouth laced kisses upon her, leaving a trail upon her skin, letting her revel in the glorious sensations he bestowed upon her, which she could not – would not – allow to be stopped.

But suddenly his weight was gone, his mouth disappearing with it and she was left a quivering mess.

Minutes passed like hours, as she heard him wander until she felt the most peculiar stir by her bare ankle. Something that tickled, wandering with sweet brushes from her ankle, before it was employed by her knee that almost jerked in response to the gentle caress.

Her mind staggered, all of her wanted to know what he was touching her with for it was far more like a – "Feather," she breathed out, the feathery object sliding inside her thighs making her gasp. She felt it poke at her folds, her slit trembling at the brief attention he gave her heat.

"Good," he breathed against her skin.

The feather disappeared from her cunt, its tip dancing upon her bosom instead, slowly encircling her buds.

"Please," she found herself saying, a words she could not detain.

She begged for him to have mercy, to relieve her of the deliberate torment he was providing her. A low chuckle was his response; as the feather smoothly slid over her parted lips, making her almost bite down at the feathery tip in pure defiance to his scheme.

Abruptly her gaze soon welcomed light again and his weight was upon her once more. Molly parted her legs beneath him, sighing when he took her lips offering her another searing kiss, her body all-too willing to receive it.

When she finally felt his thickness at her folds, she could only wait in quiet anticipation – he moved at a slow pace leaving kisses upon her mouth, distracting her from what they were about to achieve in his _laboratory._

This was perhaps not their marital bed, despite the gentleness beneath her, but she could not bear to move to where it was conceived as proper. Her legs wrapped around him, beckoning closer, until he was inside her making her gasp. She tightened her grip around him, her hands resting on his muscled back, as he slowly began to move.

From her understanding she expected it to be a sore experience, yet her juices made the entry unexpectedly pleasant as he waited inside her, letting her acquaint herself to the sensation. It was certainly a strange feeling compared to his mouth that had spent her or his fingers, for she felt every expanse of his body clenched above hers, but she ached for it more.

* * *

The sweetness between her thighs was beyond what he had expected, his hands drawing her legs to fix themselves securely at his back, quietly trying to make her adjust to the movement, as he pushed into her relishing the impression her body wracked upon him.

All of her was truly agreeable like he had long since invented to himself, his mind wandering so very often to what his wife could offer him and what he could with his own knowledge pass onto her, their bodies slick with moisture.

He saw the passing pain upon her face - his cock soaked in her quim's wetness and the blood of her maidenhood, but her pain diminished with every thrust, her expression of pleasure blatant as she thrashed around in apparent want.

Once he applied some pressure upon the throbbing bud between her legs he soon reaped his award with her shuddering around his stiff member, her body thrown into the full throes of ecstasy. His wife entirely lost in submitting to him as he had to her, and soon he followed her example unable to keep his passion under containment when he released his seed within her luscious form.

In truth he had never experienced such an act in his life – not with such fervent enjoyment. He found respite at her bosom, as she clasped him against her in true _marital bliss_.

* * *

Molly had felt better prepared for whatever notions he intended to inflict upon her inside that very chamber, but she had not expected to find her hands bound, neither had she awaited to find her eyes covered with black satin, while he swept a cloth across her body.

His attentions were perhaps a bit more rapt between her legs, cleaning with such careful strokes that only made her sex shiver. The only part of her body that was not bound were her legs, one of them he soon brought to rest over his shoulder, as his mouth ravaged her slit with little composure on his part.

"Husband – perhaps-," she began in a weak voice, stopping when he had begun suckling on her quickly growing bud, almost making her faint on the spot.

"_Husband – _I must endeavour to make you call me that more frequently, Molly," he breathed against her sex; before his tongue twisted inside her folds, her slit soaked once more.

Her leg trembled against his warm cheek, as she felt his mouth intensify their proceedings between her thighs. She would not last very long if he continued, nor was she able to protest against the treatment, only wanting him to be inside her once more.

The idea of him filling her body again caused her only joy, but he did not heed her body and mind's wishes making her venture to a state of bliss alone. When he had quenched his thirst he removed himself from her, letting her trembling leg stand still on the floor. But he did not leave her side standing before her, his arms wrapped around her subjecting her to languid kisses that made her skin flush with need.

"We are going to indulge in one rather peculiar occupation of mine, for you do know I enjoy riding, do you not?" he said.

Whatever his intention was it was unclear, though she soon understood when she felt an instrument stroke her plump backside.

"Stand very still Molly," he said, and she felt the first brief assault on her arse, causing her to struggle against the bindings, a whimper escaping her lips. She felt his strong hands massaging her rear. "Do you approve?"

Letting out a slow breath she nodded against the silk, another blow soon took place on her rear, the pain reverting into some queer pleasure which she felt between her thighs, one which she did not entirely comprehend. Such actions should not have made her sex quiver, her body tense with need. No, she should have been repulsed, but as he soothed her aches with his hands, his action brushed away the misapprehension she felt against such an assault to her body.

Suddenly he seemed rather exasperated, a quick breath released from his mouth, and she was shocked to find his mouth abruptly on her arse, pausing briefly to hear her protest, but she had none to give. His tongue darted from her arse to her cunt, and she pressed her sore bottom against him, wanting nothing more than to feel more of him within her, his fingers soon following the path of her heat.

It proved a difficult affair and she was not surprised when she felt him in front of her, her legs soon lifted up, as he burrowed his cock deep inside her. She moaned against the sensation, his hand lovingly grazing her rear, drawing such cries from her that she felt the creature who shouted was almost unfamiliar to her, half-conscious it was her own voice spewing out such illustrious words she'd only read.

He took hold of her hips, guiding her up and down his length, as his mouth sought out her breasts, the sensations proving to be too much at once, her cry impossible to be kept down.

* * *

His wife - spread out on all fours on top of the loveseat, her pink knees almost bruised by her effort to stay upright - was certainly a sight to behold. Never had he assumed such a turn in their relationship, despite his curiosity and want.

The room had not been made with such intent whatsoever.

Mr Holmes had built it out of the sheer purpose of pursuing a case. Having heard much talk of a man of sinister disposition who abducted fragile young ladies, he had needed to fully understand the depth of which the man's mind worked.

But he understood none of the ladies had reacted in the way his wife did with her pleased moans - her writhing and her mouth gladly sucking his cock.

When he had informed Mr Watson of his idea his friend had laughed gaily, before reverting into shock when he confirmed that it was truth. He fancied he sought to understand what the culprit wanted, which his friend meant should have been obvious.

In the end he had found himself wandering inside the room rather frequently, dubbing it a 'laboratory' to keep his servants out, but upon his visits he had found his thoughts wander to his wife.

The fact that his friend had been right disconcerted him, yet he ignored the frustration he had begun to feel. Instead he had found her trespassing and he indulged in the idea to send her away believing he was some perverted figure.

Upon further reflection, with her slick cunt on display, he felt he needed to address if he were indeed such a figure. Though he knew that most men were inclined to _visit_ their wives he knew of few who were not of mean understanding. With a mere glance he knew they did not journey into such ventures to please their spouse, doing it only for their own gain, not wanting to cherish, or adore, or excite the woman who was not beneath them, but _beside_ them in all things.

It was a thought he never assumed he would hold, having long declared all women vicious creatures, their natures one he'd rather not be involved with, but he knew why. Mr Watson had persisted in proving him wrong, but his friend gave up after some time declaring him unfit for matrimony. He had not enjoyed being finally harangued into a matrimonial position, one that he had obstinately avoided at every turn. Young ladies and their fortune-grabbing mothers had never been of his concern, but this had not been in the case in his own wedlock.

Mr Holmes had been pursuing a fiend at the time, a devil of a man, but he had not been the only one, and he soon acquainted himself with a Mr Hooper. The gentleman had lost a niece to the man in a most gruesome manner, which still haunted the gentleman and made him aware of the evils that his daughter could possibly face. When Mr Hooper gave him the crucial intelligence to shatter Moriarty – he had also made him a promise, one he never supposed he truly needed to keep. He had all intention of disregarding the entire affair had it not been that his mother had been informed of the undertaking. When he then became required to meet the girl he intended to explain to Mr Hooper that Moriarty had been disposed of, and all fear for his daughter futile, except he had met her _first_.

Her walk through the woods had been an innocent one, and regularly he would be quick to deduce every inch of her – to the very flicks of mud on her petticoat, but he had been preoccupied by her beauty. She had not been what he had expected, there were no airs or graces, yet she had been highly spoken of having great accomplishments, except in her lack of want of a marriage.

Within that brief instant he cast aside his bachelor state, idiotic notions blossoming in his mind, but when she understood whom he was, those ideas shattered. Miss Molly Jane Hooper had cast a beady eye upon him, her cheeks colouring at his less than gentleman-like behaviour, and he knew she did not desire him, as he did her.

His brief notions on their marriage being a happy one when her father had drawn her character for was him laid to shambles, but it was too late to explain further, not that he truly wanted to. Mr Holmes hoped that when she came to know him she would understand, except she did not, seeming to avoid him as they entered their home.

At least the staff's worried whispers about his estate being entailed to a rightful heir diminished, but his own vexations grew, leading to him being away most of the time. He could not bear to see her unhappy within their shared household, but with time she brightened, though he still did not feel that he could join her in their marital bed without forming a proper understanding. In truth Mr Holmes was afraid, his fear forcing him to seek her out to take what he wanted, not that he could, leaving her chamber quietly instead.

How all of that had altered he was unsure, as it was evident that more than curiosity had brought her to the very room he frequently haunted. It was perhaps not the room of which they should have been joined, he knew what thoughts would flow through the minds of his staff, and he did not wish to see the steward give him any knowing look on that score.

But he felt she must have known, she must have comprehended his feelings for her growing ever so slowly, despite his constant resistance. Often he would travel to the ton in hopes to relinquish the slow burn that continued to build within him, the burn that tortured his innards and unsettled his mind, which his friend Mr Watson recognized, but dare not believe when he first understood.

Mr Holmes would not rectify his friend, leading him rather to believe that his withdrawing from excessive use of the pipe had perhaps put him in such a state and not his wife (who he was torn between wanting to repel and cling to like an anchor).

He would not chose to withdraw now, for he feared doing such would make him go through such vexations that he would be unbearable in temper and in spirit, not that he wasn't already a hard man to know.

His abilities in life procured him few friends and shunned away most, despite his attempts at keeping his disagreeable parts in check. He knew, however, that she would do him good for he could see it easily in her spirited eyes and hear it in the exclamations of his name.

There was much good in her, more than he would ever have, perhaps the sum of those parts reminded him too much of how he once was.

Mr Holmes had shunned a great deal of his previous life, not wanting anything to do with the man who became a wretch on such flimsy notions, but he understood, more than knew that maybe true weakness was disregarding those parts as a whole.

"_I am yours."_

Three little words had never been held in higher esteem with him, lying there with her wrapped in his arms. His fingers stroked at the silk of her hair, having finally vacated to their marital bed in the end, the bed that he now accounted as _theirs. _

And she did not protest on that score, beaming sleepily against his bare chest.

"You do approve wife?" he said with more hesitance than he wished to reveal, fearful that she would not enjoy to always be joined with him, whether or not they were to bask in bliss.

She lifted her weary head, her face almost like a beacon in the way it shined upon him, telling him with no words her feelings. _"Yes," she said._

He brought her closer not wishing to ever part from her, knowing he would never rest properly if he did not feel the sound beatings of her heart at his side, or hear the soft tones of her voice encasing him. Darkness prevailed upon them at last lulling them both into slumber.

When morning broke through their window that day, the soft rustling of the leaves sounding, a happier pair few would find resting languidly in their bed.

* * *

Mrs Holmes did laugh when Mr Holmes further explained his true intent with that specific room and his thorough lack of knowledge, except a brief encounter in his youth and some medical books at his disposal.

Books she certainly had not read herself, though she did regard his imagination with amazement. "I would have thought you wholly knowledgeable in the subject," she said, his hands still wrapped around her, as he brushed kisses upon on her cheek, his devotion still not cool.

"No, indeed I am not," he said, looking rather startled by his own admittance, seeming to take an instant dislike toward such honesty.

"Then we must further our education," she said promptly, unable to still the mischief in her voice, or the laughter that came forth.

"Our education? Molly, are you suggesting we keep that room in such a state?" he said with a raised brow, truly stunned.

"It would be a waste of an excellent room if we did not, and you did have other contraptions we did not make good use of."

"Hardly without effort I dare say," he said with a chuckle, "I found myself _thoroughly_ distracted in attempting a scientific approach."

"We do not need to fulfil every sordid pleasure in one night, for I fear it might be the end of me."

"You did seem out of sorts last night."

"That's unsurprising, Mr Holmes."

Narrowing his eyes he threw her a glare, "Have I been demoted to _Mr Holmes_ again?"

Propping herself up on her elbows she gave him a thoughtful look. "No, but I do not feel it proper to call you anything but when a servant might walk in."

"They won't if they know what is good for them," he growled, drawing her closer, biting at her neck causing her to moan despite her aches.

She however put up a fight this time and pushed him away. "I would save your ardour for this evening Mr Holmes. I have business to attend to."

"At this hour?" he said with a visible pout, scowling at the bright windows.

"Yes, I have a house to run and you have business to attend to as well."

"Dash them all!"

Mrs Holmes rose from the bed, her husband clawing at air when she treaded about the room, trying to find some garment to attend herself with before calling her maid.

He still kept to the bed, the sheets barely at his waist and a look of complete displeasure on his face. "Are all our mornings going to be in such a fashion?"

"Are all our nights going to be in a similar vein?" she said flushing, and her husband's displeasure vanished.

"Perhaps not, but we might rectify such thoughts if you come to bed."

"Mr Holmes – _behave_," she said, soon departing the room with her nose upturned, though the gravity in her exclamation non-existent.

She would 'regret' her phrase that very night of course, though in future she would repeatedly use it to the amusement of her husband.


End file.
